Dark Horse of the Moons
by A.A. Pessimal
Summary: Daphne Moon has a large extended family. She is said to have seven brothers, although only four are seen or referenced in the series. As her engagement to Donny approaches marriage, a fifth Moon brother comes to Seattle. like her, he is a family rebel trying to break free of conformity who has aroused the ire of his parents. But will he get on with the Cranes? And Roz? Read on...
1. Daphne over the intimates

**Moons.** _**Everywhere. **_

_An attempt at a fic in the **Frasier** continuum. Well, it's being continually re-run on Channel Four, so what the hell... The canon says that Daphne has seven brothers. Only three appeared in the series. One other was referenced but never seen. And there's the mysterious Nanny, or Granny, or sometimes Grammy, Moon. Hold me back. I see "Tim Moon" as being played by David Rasche, the man who was, and remains, Sledge Hammer. (Now are there any Sledge fanfics out there? Trust me, I know what I'm doing.)_

"Frasier!" said Niles Crane, as his brother opened the door of number 1901 in response to the doorbell. "Are you ready for our morning viewing at Trompe D'Oueil? Oh, I collected the mail downstairs. I thought I'd spare Daphne a chore."

"That's very kind of you, Doctor Crane!" Daphne exclaimed, from behind a large laundry basket. "I'm just sorting out Doctor Crane's intimates. I'll be with you in a moment!"

Frasier moved to take the mail. Niles held it out of his reach.

"Whoever said it was for you?" he admonished. "Three for Dad. Two for Daphne. Nothing for you today."

"What have I got, then, Niles?" Martin Crane called up, from the depths of the La-z-Boy recliner that sat in Frasier's living room like an untreatable wart. Niles held out the mail as he moved across the living room. Martin reached for it, and then looked put out as his younger son moved unheedingly past him, straight to Daphne. He held out her letters with a look on his face that reminded Frasier of Eddie the dog, retrieving something important and seeking approval from his mistress.

"One with an English stamp." he said. "My, doesn't our dear Queen look stately?"

Marty snorted.

"More like constipated, if you ask me." he said, derisively. "Must be all that good homely English cooking!"

Niles ignored him.

"I believe it's from your grandmother."

Daphne squealed with delight.

"Grammy Moon, bless her!" she said. "She never forgets me out here in Seattle. I was always her favourite grandchild, though, Doctor Crane! She says I remind her of her when she was my age!"

"From what you've said about your grandmother, you have a lot to look forward to when you get to her age!" Frasier observed.

Niles frowned with puzzlement.

"I don't recognise this one, though. No stamp, just a postmark. "B.F.P.O. 666?"** (1)**

Daphne squealed loudly with delight and nearly dropped the laundry basket. Frasier winced at the high-pitched noise.

"It's my brother!" she squealed. "My _real _favourite brother. Not Simon, Donny got that _dead_ wrong."

"It's also marked "underpaid – three dollars owing in excess mail charge." Niles observed. Daphne frowned.

"Yeah, _that _sounds just like a Moon brother!" Frasier said, sourly. He'd unwillingly put up with Simon Moon for several fraught weeks, an experience that had jaundiced him against the wider Moon family.

"Shall I open it and read it to you as you go about the laundry?" Niles asked, hopefully.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Niles, just give the lady her letters!" Frasier burst out.

Daphne put down the laundry basket and sat down at the table opposite Marty. He obligingly poured her a coffee. Niles reverently laid the mail in front of her.

"Ooh, it's an embarrassment of riches, Doctor Crane!" Daphne gushed. "I don't know which one to open first!"

She turned both letters over in her hands.

"If there's even the slightest danger of other members of your family coming to Seattle..." Fraiser began, prompting her.

"Ach, Frase, Simon wasn't _that _bad!" Marty said, dismissively.

"He only took the place over. Drank my fine wine. In pint glasses, I may add. Brought uncultured oafs back from lowlife bars. Ate me out of house and home. Complained the Marmite on his toast tasted off and fishy. That was finest Beluga caviare at six hundred dollars a pot! **And** he stood Roz up."

"He also introduced me to rugby. Both codes. So he wasn't all _that_ bad, Frase. Took an intelligent interest in football too." Marty said.

"Yes. Rugby. Thirty gorillas with strange British accents beating each other up in pursuit of a football. At least in America we wear protective padding if we have to play that sort of game."

"You never played that sort of game, as I recall, Frasier." Marty said, cuttingly. He looked across to Daphne, who was engorssed in her mail.

"Good news from home, Daph?"

"Oh, Marty! My brother Tim's heard I'm engaged to Donny. He apologises for being late in writing as he's aboard ship at the moment and mail gets in and out once a month depending on when they hit port. He was writing this as they went through the Panama Canal to the Pacific. Says a Royal Navy ship mutinied there in 1944 and he can see why.**(2)** Apparently a decent mutiny would break the monotony, he says."

"Your brother's in the Navy, Daph?" Martin asked, interested.

She shook her head and smiled.

"Oh, no, Mr Crane. He's in the Marines. If there was a mutiny aboard ship, he'd be cracking heads together and putting it down!"

There was an uneasy silence as the Cranes digested this.

"That's what Tim means about something to break the monotony, Doctor Crane. He's always been a bit direct."

"I see." said Frasier.

"Well, hell, that's one of the things Marines are _for_, Frase." Marty said, as a half-grin crossed his face. He leaned back and looked lost in memory for a moment. "Hell, I oughtta know, I was one!"

"And is he heading this way, Daphne?" Niles inquired, with a studied casuality.

He's on the commando carrier HMS Bulwark. He's going to be in Seattle next week when the ship docks here!"

"And he'll be calling here..." mused Frasier.

"HMS Bulwark is going to be moored at Colman Dock, Seattle, for a week on a goodwill visit. Tim says he's owed leave, so he'll be popping by to see me and give Donny the once-over. And _those two mad-sounding trick-cyclists you look after by default."_

"Well, if it's only for a week..." Frasier mused.

"So your brother's a Marine, Daph." Marty said, grinning. "Well, that's sure OK by me!"

Frasier looked uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

"It won't be that long, Doctor Crane!" Daphne said, soothingly. "There's this big NATO exercise on up at Puget Sound. Our Royal Marines joining in with the United States Marine Corps in a joint exercise. Apparently it's to _enhance co-operation, friendship and the special relationship between Great Britain and the USA"._

Martin Crane looked doubtful for a moment.

"Two or three thousand Marines. From at least two different countries. All in the Seattle area and looking to this city for a run ashore and R&R. Geez. I'm sure glad I ain't on the force no more!"

"Apparently Canada and Holland are sending marine units too, Mr Crane."

"Oh, that just tears it!" Frasier burst out. "Three thousand Marines stomping into Seattle and putting their dirty boots on the furniture and drinking the state dry!"

"No idea of civilised behaviour..." added Niles.

"Downtown Seattle will be a no-go area." Frasier said, woefully.

"Now listen here, you two! I was a Marine for six years and I knew how to behave in civilised company!" Marty said, clearly affronted. "You guys diss the Marines, you diss _me_!"

"And in any case, did I mention Tim's an officer?" Daphne added, meaningfully.

Frasier and Niles perked up.

"Doctor Crane, Doctor Crane. My brother Tim was in the ranks for six years. He was made up to lance-corporal four times."

"Four times?" said Niles.

"And he got busted back to Marine three times. Long story. Anyway, his commanding Colonel saw Tim had a bit more go in him than a lot of the others. He sent Tim on a rosbie."

"Regular Officer Selection Board, Frase." Marty filled in, seeing his son's perplexity. "And he passed?"

"He passed out as a second lieutenant, Mr Crane." Daphne said. "My father hit the bloody ceiling. He said, no son of MINE turns his back on his working-class northern roots and ponces about as an officer. We Moons know our place. We Moons are private soldiers and the backbone of Her Majesty's Armed Forces, not the bloody chinless ruperts!"

"I see. There's nothing like parental encouragement, is there?" Niles said.

"Was your father in the services, Daph?" asked Marty.

Daphne grimaced.

"Eventually, Mr Crane". she said. "Mum still talks about the day it took four military policemen to drag him out of the attic screaming that he was too young to die. The nearest he got to active fighting service were in the pubs in Aldershot after closing time. Dad did his service in the glasshouse in Colchester for attempted desertion, assault on a senior rank, insubordination, and multiple breaches of Queen's Regulations ."

The Cranes contemplated this picture for a moment. Daphne's family reminiscences could derail any train of thought.

"But your brother Tim..." Frasier began, uncertainly,

"Is a Captain now. Yes."

Frasier and Niles looked at each other.

"A commissioned officer in Her Majesty's Royal Marines." Frasier said, with mounting excitement.

"He will have been trained in gracious behaviour. How to recognise a fine port as it travels anti-clockwise around the officers' mess high table. He will know about fine dining." said Niles.

"Which cutlery to use with which course. An appreciation of fine wines."

"Frasier!" breathed Niles, excitedly. "Do you think he could get us an invitation to dine with the ship's officers?"

"You've changed your tune, Doctor Crane!" Daphne said, indignantly. "As long as you thought my brother was just an ordinary leatherneck Marine, you didn't want to know and you'd only have let him through your front door with the greatest reluctance. The moment I tell you he's an officer, you're practically rolling out the bloody red carpet for him!"

"But he's like you, Daphne." Niles said, trying to placate her. "You broke away from your family, a family you yourself described as derelicts and deadbeats, and made the most of yourself. You carved out a career on your own merits and strengths. You are going places. Your brother sounds a lot like you. He's somebody I'd dearly love to meet!"

"Hmmph." she said, partly mollified.

"Besides. An officer. A man of skill and taste and refinement. A social asset." said Frasier.

His father grunted with scorn.

"And a Marine. Sheesh, you guys are on a steep learning curve here!"

* * *

**(1) **B.F.P.O. = British Forces Post Office. Every British unit on service outside the UK is assigned a BFPO number for incoming and outgoing mail. Actually, BFPO 666 was assigned to British forces in the Falklands Expeditionary Taskforce in 1982, despite objections from the Army Chaplaincy Department who thought this was only inviting bad luck. The Toms on the Taskforce considered this a huge joke and speculated that it meant they could rain seven kinds of Hell on the Argentinians.

**(2) **HMS Edinburgh Castle, a ship en route to join the British Pacific Fleet as the European war wound down, was the last Royal Navy ship to suffer mutiny. The heat and humidity of the Panama Canal, the lack of air conditioning, the poor rations and the fact the ship was overcrowded and badly officered caused the ship's company to revolt. A combination of Royal Marines and military assistance begged from the Americans put down the mutiny. Even today, the story of the Edinburgh Castle is taught in military academies as the textbook account of how mutinies happen and how poor leadership can trigger them.


	2. Lock up your radio producers

**Moons.** _**Everywhere. 2**_

_An attempt at a fic in the **Frasier** continuum. The canon says that Daphne has seven brothers. Only three appeared in the series. One other was referenced but never seen. And there's the mysterious Nanny, or Granny, or sometimes Grammy, Moon. Hold me back. I see "Tim Moon" as being played by David Rasche, the man who was, and remains, Sledge Hammer. (Now are there any Sledge fanfics out there? Trust me, I know what I'm doing.)_

_**A week or so later at KACL radio. Frasier Crane is at his desk in the radio station with Roz Doyle counting down to the end of the show. **_

"And that almost concludes the Doctor Frasier Crane Show." Frasier said, smoothly. "As we come into the weekend, let me just say that the exciting news for Seattle is the arrival later today of the British Royal Navy vessel H.M.S. Bulwark at Colman Dock. Her Majesty's Ship will be open to the public from tomorrow for guided tours of the vessel, and the Band of the Royal Marines will be playing for your delight. Indeed, the band will be gracing the stage of the McCaw Hall this weekend, with proceeds going to military veteran charities, so please give generously.

"Next Monday on the Doctor Frasier Crane Show, my guest will be Doctor James Alambard, an expert in obsessive-compulsive disorder, who will be talking about the one hundred and thirty-seven books he has so far written on the subject.

"That's all, Seattle, so have a good weekend, and happy mental health!"

Frasier doffed his headphones as Roz grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

He relaxed into his chair as his producer bustled through from her booth.

"Good one, Frasier!" she said, warmly.

He smiled. He'd made it through to the top of the hour and the news without either over-running or leaving dead air. In Roz Doyle's eyes, that made for a good show.

"Anything planned for the weekend, Roz?" he asked, making conversation.

"Oh, nothing special." she said, off-handedly. "Spend some quality time with Alice, maybe hook up with Daphne and go shopping."

She paused.

"Hey, wait on. Isn't one of Daphne's brothers in town this weekend?" she asked, doubtfully. Frasier grimaced slightly. Roz grimaced, slightly. She'd had a short and nasty encounter with Simon Moon that had also prejudiced her against the Moon brothers.

"Yes. This one's Tim, the Marine." Frasier said. "The Fleet's in town. Haven't you heard? I'd have thought you'd have been among the _first_ at the dockside, cheering the sailors home!"

Roz let her eyes narrow and she glared at him.

"Frasier, just because I'm a single girl does _not_ mean I'm desperate!" she said.

Frasier changed tack, smoothly. Baiting Roz was always fun, but he knew he could push it too far.

"Anyway, Captain Moon's calling by tonight, as soon as he can manage it and get shore leave." he said.

"_Captain_ Moon?" she said, pulling up short. "A Moon, in charge of a warship?" She looked horrified. "One of Daphne's _brothers_? All those weapons and guided missiles and stuff?"

Frasier saw the point immediately. Somebody like Simon Moon left in charge of high-tech weaponry could start the Third World War by one drunken negligient blunder. He considered Simon was not fit to be left in charge of cutlery. He shuddered.

"No, Roz. Fortunately he isn't captain of the _ship._ Merely in command of a unit of Royal Marines on board the ship. Apparently a lot of people make that error. **(1) **But we'll be meeting him later today. Let us hope he's more congenial than Simon!"

"Frasier, a drunken gorilla with personal hygiene problems would be more congenial than Simon. It isn't exactly a high bar..."

She was cut short by the clatter and cacophony of Bulldog Briscoe wheeling his sound effects trolley into the studio. Bulldog was a short, wiry, shaven-headed thuggish-looking guy with the build of a flyweight boxer. He also had an unshakeable belief in his attractiveness to women.

"Hey, Roz! What are _you_ still doing here, didn't you know the Fleet's in town?" He punctuated it with a blast of a hunting horn.

Roz scowled and made her way towards the door.

"And speaking of hygienically challenged simians.." Frasier murmured.

"No need to rush, Roz, they're here for a week!" Bulldog added. "Hey, Doc! I sure feel sorry for all those Brit sailors and Marines in town. Next to the Bulldog, they're outclassed, know what I mean?"

He parped the horn again, then looked around.

"Hey, where's my souvenir baseball from the big World Series game?" he demanded. "This stinks! This is bee-ess! This is..."

Frasier picked it up off the trolley and handed it to him. Bulldog deflated.

"Oh...thanks, Doc..."

* * *

Frasier was rapt and lost in the music. It surged and flowed around him like a Nordic mountain stream. The strings pulsed and surged and danced onwards...

"Frase, you're gonna have to wrap it up soon!" Marty said, sourly, from the depths of his unspeakable recliner. "For one thing, _Everyone loves Raymond _is gonna be on the tele soon, and that's my favourite show!"

Frasier winced. He didn't like being dragged out of a reverie by his father. And in any case, truly great classical music was good for the soul.

"And my brother's due any time, Doctor Crane!" Daphne reminded him.

"I never got the hang of that Nordic chamber music, anyway." Marty added. "Sheesh, now I know why the suicide rate's so high in Sweden!"

"Dad, it is not chamber music!" Frasier objected. "Nor is it Swedish. Nor is it in any way, shape, or form, _depressive_! This is one of the most life-affirming things Sibelius ever wrote!"

"Sure. Like that thing about the black swan of death swimming on a cold black pond. Swan Lake, it ain't!"

The doorbell rang. Daphne, excited, went to answer it.

"Oh, doctor Crane!" she said, slightly deflated.

Niles walked in.

"Good evening, Daphne. Dad. Frasier. Has your brother arrived yet?"

"Any minute, Doctor Crane. Ooh, I'm so excited! I haven't seen Tim for nearly two years!"

The doorbell rang again. Daphne scurried to answer it. This time it was Roz Doyle.

"Hi, Daphne." she said. "Thought I'd swing by and drop Frasier the bulletins from the station."

"I'm surprised you're not down by the docks." Niles observed. She swung and glowered at him. "I mean, three thousand fresh guys in town. It must be like Christmas.."

"Not you too!" she said, irritated. "Just because I'm not dating anyone right now, you all assume I'm desperate!"

"Or else Seattle's run out of men and the new guys haven't heard yet..."

"Feel like a beer, Roz?" Marty cut in, hurriedly. She smiled, warmly.

"Any time with you, Marty!" she said, happily.

"Ah, her mating call..." Niles mused.

"Well, there's only one sailor home from the sea I want to see right now!" Daphne gushed.

"Hey, Daph! I get to see your latest brother in town?" Roz said, without too much enthusiasm.

"Oh, Tim isn't a _bit_ like Simon." Daphne assued her. Then she paused. "Well, honesty forces me to admit he's a _little_ bit like Simon..."

there was a sudden thunderous knocking at the door. Everyone stopped. And then the door burst off its hinges to the sound of a thunderous kick. It swung round, hanging off one hinge.

"That'll be Tim now." she said. "Well, if truth be told he's got a few things in common with Simon...he's me brother, after all..."

A small-built scruffy Marine in British Army combat dress walked in, carrying a large cardboard box in both arms, which obscured his face.

"_That's _Tim?" said Frasier, incredulously.

"No, Doctor Crane. _This_ is Tim."

A rather taller, better-dressed, combat marine walked in behind the first. He wore the green beret with a certain insouciance and had the three pips of a Captain on each shoulder. His hair was brown-blonde and his smile made Roz Doyle pause in the act of pulling the ring off her beer. Daphne squealed with delight and ran to hug him. **(2)**

"Hey, _Stilts_!" he said, lifting her off her feet.

"Hey, Tim!" she said, as he set her down. Niles Crane looked on with mixed feelings clearly showing on his face, wondering what he'd need to do to get a reaction like that from Daphne Moon.

Captain Tim Moon, R.M., turned and looked sternly at the other Marine, who had set the box down on the table. He was now revealed to be a man who looked, to Frasier, like Bulldog Briscoe's long-lost English twin brother, but with a more hangdog air about him. And was that a _cigarette stub_ lodged behind his ear? **(3)**

"Malone, you horrible article!" he began. "We're not doing three in the morning home calls in Belfast! **(4). **This is America, if you haven't noticed. The Americans are our _allies_, you know? _Friends_? We are _guests_ in this country. We don't go kicking their doors in as if we're learning house-to-house combat, we actually wait politely to be invited in!"

He turned to Frasier and held out a hand.

"You've got to be Doctor Crane? I recognised you from Daphne's description of you."

They shook hands. Frasier was too stunned to speak.

"Sorry about your door. I'll get a chippie sent up from the ship to fix it for you."

"Ach, don't worry about it. It's only a door." Marty Crane said, dismissively. "Nice to have you boys over! Fancy a beer?" Marty, grinning widely at his sons' consternation, stood and hobbled towards the kitchen. Meanwhile, Daphne made other introductions.

"This is the other Doctor Crane. Doctor Crane, this is my brother Tim, and that's Mike Malone, one of his Marines.."

As Niles stood back, waggling sensation back into his fingers after a strong handshake, the Marine private was muttering

"I don't know, makes me carry his bloody box over for him, and this is the thanks I get..."

"Don't grouse, Marine! A nice easy duty, gets you out of a fatigue party back on ship. And you get a beer for it, even if you have wrecked the nice doctor's front door!"

And then Daphne was introducing him to Roz Doyle. And the two of them were looking at each other with frank undisguised interest.

"So _you're_ Roz?" Tim said, taking her hand. "Stilts did say you're the outward-going one who makes friends easily."

Daphne looked away with a sudden blush.

"Oh, come _on_. I bet she didn't phrase it that way!" Roz said, looking at her. But she didn't pull her hand away.

"And so the female of the species draws the unsuspecting male into her web..." mused Niles.

"Yeah. And you never married Maris." she said, curtly.

"I'm new in town." Tim Moon said, diffidently. "It'd be good to have, you know, somebody who knows this city to show me around while I'm on leave."

"If I hadn't already met your brother..." Roz said, meeting his eyes.

"Simon? Oh, he's a complete waste of oxygen." Tim said, dismissively. "I can see why you're dubious, though. Anyway, think about it. No hurry."

"Hey, did I say "no"?" Roz said, hurriedly.

"Forty-five seconds, start to finish." Marine Malone observed. Niles Crane nodded. "Yes indeed. A new world record, even for Roz Doyle."

"Hey, will you quit with implying I'm easy?" she exclaimed. "There's no harm with me showing Daphne's brother some of the sights and being hospitable!"

"And I'm sure you will be very hospitable indeed!" said Niles, soothingly.

"Not to mention showing him the sights!" added Frasier. "By the way, is the music obtrusive?"

"Sibelius' Fifth, isn't it?" said Tim Moon. "Final movement."

"Yes indeed!" agreed Frasier, gratified. He preened himself. "The London Philharmonia. Sir Sebastian Wang conducting."

Malone and Marty sniggered together.

"An orchestra conductor called "Wang"?" scoffed Marty.

"What, he gets out front and conducts with his..." said Malone.

"Actually Hong Kong Anglo-Chinese, you uncultured oaf." Tim Moon said. "Conductor in Residence with the Philharmonia."

"You wouldn't believe he's my brother, would you?" Daphne remarked. "Comes from the same scruffy back entries in Manchester as the rest of us Moons with the bum hanging out of his britches, and he can talk to Doctor Crane on his own level about big band music."

Niles took a surreptitious look at Daphne's posterior, possibly to check if anything was hanging out.

"Niles!" Frasier said, making him jump. "Captain Moon, you're a cultured man?"

"Hardly that, doc." Tim said, shrugging. "It's just that we've been at sea on a big world tour for eight months. Believe me, looking out on lots and lots of bloody ocean loses its appeal after a week. The chaplain looks after the library on board and thinks he's on a mission to improve the reading and listening tastes of the Marines and the ship's company. Oh, is this coming up to the end? The Fifth ends on these six great hammer-blow notes, one after the other, like an artillery barrage... nobody talk... Malone, you're on a charge if you so much as breathe heavily..."

He hushed for silence as the Sibelius symphony ended.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang-bang. _

"Great!" said Marty, breaking the silence. "Now I can watch _Everyone Loves Raymond."_

"So I listened to a lot of classical music, doc. Boned up on the sleeve notes. When the old Bollocks docked in Sydney, there were free tickets slurping about for the opera house. You kind of get the bug after a while."

"You have been to the Opera House in Sydney?" Frasier breathed. It was a place he'd never been to.

"Perk of the service, doc!" Tim agreed.

"Yeah, and you were seeing that classy bird at the British Consulate and wanted to impress her!" sniggered Malone.

"Well, if it wasn't for me she'd have had to make do with going out with an Australian." Tim Moon agreed. "Wouldn't do."

"What's in the box, Mike?" Daphne prompted him.

"Gift package your brother put together in England." Malone said. "Thought you'd be missing a few home comforts, girl. Weighed a sodding ton, it did. If it wasn't for you, I'd have told him where to stick it."

"Malone, your respect for your commanding officer is duly noted." Tim said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. If it wasn't for the fact I get to meet your sister again, I'd have told you, very politely and respectfully, where to shove it, _sir._"

"That's better, Malone."

Marty laughed.

"You two guys sound like you got an understanding going on." he observed. "I had an officer like that in Korea. When you're in a foxhole together and the Gunnery Sergeant ain't around, it's hard not to get on first-name terms! The formalities just don't matter a damn when the bullets are flying."

"Or the bricks." agreed Malone. "Take Captain Hurricane over there. Had to get him out of harm's way in South Armagh a couple of times. Silly bugger thought the bullets would just bounce off."

Marty nodded.

"Ain't that just the way with officers. You got a beer?"

"And thus the international fraternity of Marines gets together." said Frasier.

"It's a brotherhood, Frase. You wouldn't understand."

Tim Moon sighed.

"Let them save your life once and they take advantage. Anyway, Stilts. In the goodie box we have digestive biscuits. Hobnobs. Tinned Frey Bentos pies. They keep well."

"Ah, the glories of British cuisine." Frasier said. "Proving why England is at the cutting edge of culinary excellence."

"Don't knock it, Frasier." Roz Doyle said. "You've never tried British cookies? They're something else!"**(5) **She leant over, interested.

"I am partial to the occasional Bath Oliver, yes." Frasier agreed. Tim grinned.

"I've heard of those, yes. But we've got something _better_ here. Eccles Cakes."

Daphne shrieked with delight.

"Oooh, I haven't had a proper Eccles Cake in _years_!" she said. "You can't get them round here!"

"I wonder why?" Frasier commented.

"Jaffa Cakes. Fig rolls. And... Nescafé?" Daphne lost some of her enthusiasm. "And Co-operative brand coffee and chicory mixture. How thoughtful."

"Yes." Tim said. "When you wrote and said coffee as we know it in Britain is completely unknown here, I thought I'd get some together for you."

"How thoughtful indeed." agreed Niles. "The wonders of a food parcel from England for your malnourished sister languishing six thousand miles away from the comforts of Home."

"Don't you remember, Daph?" Tim said, cheerfully brandishing the coffee and chicory instant mix. "We used to only ever drink this at home. Still do, when we're at mum and dad's!"

"Yes." Daphne said, flatly. "I remember, alright."

Niles took the opportunity to pat here on the shoulder in a consoling way.

"You'll feel _so_ much better after that first wonderful taste." he said, keeping a poker face. "Instant coffee powder in boiling water. Why wait for it to go through all that terribly inconvenient process of grinding the beans, percolating the powder and then infusing it into hot water and milk?"

"Tim, I know where our first stop is gonna be when I show you around Seattle." Roz decided.

"Café Nervosa!" Roz, Daphne and both Doctor Cranes chorused together.

Daphne reached into the box again.

"Marmite. HP Sauce. Ooh, a full jar of dolly mixtures! And one of jelly babies! Cadbury's chocolate! And what's this..."

She pulled out a folded sky-blue shirt. It opened into a replica football shirt with "MOON" on the back above the number nine.

"Don't wear that in front of Simon." Tim warned her. "The last time he saw one of those he set fire to it." He paused for a beat, and reflected. "If only someone hadn't been wearing it at the time. It got him two months inside for criminal damage and GBH."**(6)**

"There's a cell-block at Strangeways Prison they call the Moon Wing." Daphne explained. "When Simon was inside, the warders said they were being good to him by giving him me dad's old cell."

"It even had Dad's old graffiti still on the walls." agreed Tim. "You know, his little poem about the young girl from Huddersfield..."

"Moving swiftly along." Daphne said, hurriedly. "And you even got me the Man City club calendar for the year! Shame it's August.."

"I should have posted that". Tim said. "Still, can't think of everything."

"And a couple of videos of City games! Tim, I love you!"

"It does include the one where they lost to Stockport County, though."**(7)**

"Well, you can't have everything." Daphne sighed, reluctantly.

Tim shook his head.

"So when do I get to meet Donny the lawyer, then?"

* * *

**(1) **A boring etymological note. The word _Captain _has roots in both German and Latin and originally meant nothing more than "head man", or "alpha male put in charge of other males". It took different directions in the Army and Navy rank structure, and now denotes a far higher rank in the Navy than in the Army. In both British and American usages, the Captain in charge of a ship (Navy) far out-ranks the Captain in charge of the ship's marines (Army rank used by Marines for convenience). An Army or Marine captain is in charge, usually, of a company of 100-150 men and their weaponry, and his rank equates perhaps to a senior Navy lieutenant. A Navy captain, depending on seniority, is at least the equivalent of a full Colonel in the Army. An Army lieutenant, depending on seniority, ranks below a Captain and equates perhaps to a Midshipman (Ensign) in the Navy or at most a sub-lieutenant. It does get easier to work out after a few beers.

**(2) **At this point, were this to have been made as a TV episode, the studio audience would pause, draw breath, and then whoop with recognition as David Rasche walks in, doing a cameo and putting on a very good British accent, reprising his role as Sledge Hammer in Marine' officer's garb.

**(3) **I'm thinking of Terry Pratchett's great comic creation Corporal "Nobby" Nobbs here, combined with George MacDonald Fraser's unspeakable Private McAuslan, the Scruffiest Soldier In The World, described as a combination of Gollum and Caliban in British Army uniform. Nobbs or McAuslan standing in Frasier Crane's front room... comedy gold.

**(4) **Some explanation. Marines take a straightforward line towards resolving little difficulties, like opening a door with both hands full. A good hard kick is the accepted door-opening method in these circumstances. Three in the morning was found to be a good time to make raids or house arrests of terrorist suspects in Northern Ireland. Time is of the essence to as to prevent suspects disposing of any evidence, so accepted practice was to go in hard and fast whilst making as much noise as possible to add to the recipient's disorientation.

**(5) **Apparently, British biscuits are very well received in the USA, if nothing else is. Bath Olivers are a seriously upmarket biscuit sold in places like Selfridges and Harrods. Eccles Cakes are a Manchester local speciality largely unknown in the rest of Britain, let alone the USA. They are a filling of currants wrapped inside a sweet pastry shell. Fig rolls have an American name, which escapes me for the moment.

**(6) **Manchester City, who play in sky blue, are the local rivals to Manchester United. It would fit Daphne's kooky maverick status for her to go against the rest of her family and support them. And Tim, for encouraging this. OK, so in later episodes she comes out as a United fan, possibly because they're the only Manchester team widely known in the USA. And of course Simon Moon would set fire to a City fan. But in the real world...

**(7) **At the height of Frasier's TV run, Manchester City were in the doldrums, had sunk through the divisions, and were being regularly beaten by a third Manchester side, unglamorous and unfancied Stockport County. The shame would be akin to Seattle Seahawks being thrashed at home by a local side from Tacoma.


	3. Two nations, divided by common customs

**Moons.** _**Everywhere. 3**_

_An attempt at a fic in the **Frasier** continuum. The canon says that Daphne has seven brothers. Only three appeared in the series. One other was referenced but never seen. And there's the mysterious Nanny, or Granny, or sometimes Grammy, Moon. Hold me back. I see "Tim Moon" as being played by David Rasche, the man who was, and remains, Sledge Hammer. (Now are there any Sledge fanfics out there? Trust me, I know what I'm doing.)_

_**The following Monday at KACL radio. Frasier Crane is at his desk in the radio station with Roz Doyle attentively supervising from the booth. **_

" Thank you to Doctor Alambard for his fascinating discussion of the very real, and very distressing, condition known as obsessive-compulsive disorder." Frasier said, smoothly. "And while my guest counts up the number of ceiling tiles in the studio prior to leaving – for the thirteenth time – may I remind you his one hundred and thirty-seven books on OCD are available via most good booksellers..."

"One hundred and thirty-nine, Frasier." Roz corrected, cutting into the broadcast.

"His _one hundred and thirty-nine_ books on the subject. Evidently two more were released at the weekend."

In the background, a low monotonous voice was intoning _seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty..._

"Let's go to a call. Roz, who's on line?"

"We've got Marianne from Issaquah on line three. She has a problem with kleptomania."

"Marianne. I'm listening." Frasier said, his voice exuding attentive concern.

"Is that Doctor Crane? Am I on air?" a worried female voice said.

"This is Doctor Frasier Crane. I'm listening." He smoothly made his voice exude avuncular warmth and concern. "I believe you have issues surrounding kleptomania?"

"Oh, yes, Doctor Crane!" Her voice shook with anxiety and worry. "Every time I go into a shop or a store, I just have to take something. Even though I can pay for it, I just have to slip something into my bag or into my pocket and walk out of the store, knowing it's there and I've stolen it."

Frasier relaxed. He'd been here before. His sister in law, Maris Crane, had gotten herself into trouble for this very reason. Although one of the richest women in Seattle, Maris was _notorious_ for it. It caused Niles a lot of angst.

"Well, Marianne, some authorities say this is a survival of the old hunter-gathering instinct of the human race. The thrill of the hunt, the delight of the chase. Over time this mutated into the urge to collect, to gather, to accumulate. On a deep psychological level this sometimes points to underlying and unacknowledged wounds in the very psyche, fundamental wants and needs which are the root cause for which kleptomania is but the outward symptom. And on a practical day to day level, it can cause social embarrassment and community censure."

"Oh, you are so right, Doctor Crane!" Marianne said, excited. "It's causing me a lot of trouble and embarrassment and I wish it could stop..."

At this point a new voice cut in.

"Ma'am? While it's legally your right to make one phone call, we didn't expect it to be to the local radio station!"

"Who's that?" Frasier asked, sharply.

"Deputy Conley, Issaquah Sheriff's Department. And can I say, Doctor Crane, all of us here really enjoy your show?"

There was a moment of dead air.

"Well." said Frasier, collecting himself, "A great big shout-out to all of our friends in the law enforcement community in Issaquah. And may I say, Marianne, you would be far better advised to have saved your one call for seven this evening, when Eric Sundstrand, KACL's resident legal eagle, presents his _You And The Law_ phone-in show? I fear your immediate problem is beyond the reach of psychiatry. And who's up next, Roz?"

"On line five, we've got Frank, who's a cross dresser."

"Go ahead, Frank, I'm listening."

"Doctor Crane, for as long as I can remember, I've had the need to dress in women's clothes. I'm really fed up."

"Why is that, Frank? It's more common than you would think. Society is in the main more tolerant, and I can put you in touch with several mutual-help groups for those who feel this need and seek to be mutually supportive..."

"Is there one for the larger transvestite, doc? I mean, you just don't know what it's like!"

"Ah. Weight and self-image issues?"

"Sure thing, doc! I look into the mirror and I see a fat dowdy frump. Have you any idea how difficult it is to find stylish attractive clothes for the plus-size lady? The whole goddam fashion industry is geared to people with visible ribs and no hips!"

Frasier put his head in his hands.

At the end of the show, he petulantly complained to Roz that the standard of mental disturbance in Seattle was really plummeting downhill.

She listened, passively, and asked

"So what do you want, Frasier, a chainsaw murderer or a serial strangler?" She paused, and reflected. "Although that would sure help the ratings. The Zodiac Killer in New York chose to ring his local radio station and boast about it, and their ABC percentage went up like you wouldn't believe.."

"Well, if one of your old dates might oblige..." he said.

She changed the subject.

"Speaking of dates, Frasier, Alice and I had a really good time with Tim Moon on Saturday. She was so excited about going aboard the big ship!"

"You took your _daughter _on a date? That'll send out a signal to the poor guy. Can you imagine Lord Nelson taking Emma Hamilton on a tour of HMS Victory, and she were to bring her daughter? British history would have changed. _England expects that every man should do the decent thing and offer to make a honest woman of the single mother from Seattle. Please form an orderly line on the poop-deck."_

"Frasier! It wasn't really a date in the date sense. Just a nice day out with a nice guy showing us round. And Alice really liked him! Oh, and I took your father's good advice."

"Which was?" Frasier asked, interested despite himself.

"Marty said some of those stairways aboard a warship are really steep. Boy, he wasn't kidding! He said if you get invited to tour a ship where the sailors haven't seen a woman for months, _wear trousers._ Else you get a crowd of sailors and Marines clustered under every ladder looking up, and some of those guys will have cameras. Frasier, he wasn't wrong! It amazed me how many gals hadn't figured that one out."

"So in the end, which skirt did you wear?"

"Frasier!"

She would have said more, but Bulldog bustled in with his unspeakable sound-effects trolley. He was still bouncing on his toes like a combination of a boxer in the ring and a semi-housetrained puppy, but he was sporting facial bruises and a blacked eye.

"Hey, doc!" he said, nearly running the trolley over Frasier's feet. "Great weekend! And you?"

"Fan club convention?" Frasier asked, surveying the battered face. "Enthusiastic date expressing her undying love for you?"

"Nothing like that, doc." the Bulldog said. "I was in this bar downtown. These English sailors were harrassing these chicks. Now me, I hate to watch a good American broad getting hit on by Brit sailors. It just ain't right to see a chick get dissed, you know?"

"Your respect for women knows no bounds. And like a good chivalrous knight errant you stepped in to admonish them, am I right?"

"You bet, doc! So we traded a few punches, right?"

Bulldog mimed the left-right-left head-ducking action of a prize fighter in the ring.

"And then it got crazy, doc, a few tables got tipped over, drinks got spilled, everybody's fighting, the broad I'm trying to rescue gets offended and _she_ hits me.." he pointed to his eye. "No gratitude. Right, doc? And before I knew it, a Navy shore patrol and some Seattle cops are busting in, I said to the Brit guys there's a back door here, leads to an alleyway, come on, and me and the guys I'd been fighting are running for it. And they say I'm not bad for a Yank and I can throw a good punch, and _I'm _saying I know a really low dive on Meredith. Then we're all best buddies drinking and hitting on chicks together, and the Bulldog's showing these guys what American broads _really_ go for! Great night, doc, but hey, I'm the Bulldog!"

He honked the horn and did a touch-down victory shuffle. Roz shook her head in disbelief.

"Surprised you're here, Roz. Else you got through three thousand new guys in town already!" The horn honked again.

She made to hit him. Frasier stepped between them quickly.

"Why not stop by for a drink, Roz? You can tell us about your weekend." Frasier offered.

_Three hundred and fifty-nine, three hundred and sixty..._

Frasier paused.

"Oh, and if kindly hands could lead Doctor Alambard out of the studio..."

* * *

They listened to KACL on the drive back to Apartment 1901. Kinsley Square to Queen Anne Heights was a short drive; somebody with more time on their hands could walk it inside three quarters of an hour. **(2)**

_And hey, on a related note, I heard a lot about European soccer at the weekend. Kinda forced to, with all these guys in town who ain't got a clue what **real** football's about! Apparently there's this soccer coach in England who got the big boot for humping the club physio's wife. You get that? His club was apparently flyin' high up the rankings and in line to win the Brit version of the Superbowl but they drop the coach for something that ain't got squat to do with sports. Total bee-ess, man, but these Brits are weird that way...**(1)**_

"He's like a great big puppy that hasn't yet been housetrained." Frasier reflected.

" Guess that's why they call him the Bulldog! At least he doesn't leave puddles all over the studio floor." agreed Roz.

They laughed together, in a moment of shared humour. Then Roz looked thoughtful.

"Will Tim be at your place, do you think?"

"Well, Daphne might be showing him round town. But Dad likes him well enough."

"Frasier, your dad likes _Simon._"

There was a thoughtful silence. She said

"Alice thinks he's wonderful. He did a nice thing for her on Saturday. It worked for me too, as I'm a bit short of cash right now."

"You'll have to tell me." Frasier said.

She told him in the elevator up to the nineteenth floor. Frasier digested this.

"And you plan to _tell_ people about that?" he said, incredulously, as they stepped out.

"Oh, come _on_, Frasier. It all worked out!" she said. "Hey, we're here!"

Frasier noted she seemed enervated and happy. He also noticed, as they entered, that his brother Niles looked nervy and shaken up. Marty was grinning all over his face, which put his older son immediately on guard, whilst Daphne looked inscrutably serene.

"Hi, Frase!" said Marty. "You gotta hear this!"

"Where's Donny?" Frasier inquired.

"Ach, still down the precinct collecting Daphne's brother." Marty said, off-hand. "Don't worry, it's all sorted out! No cop ever wants to take on a trained pitbull attack lawyer like Donny, and anyway I had a word with the desk sergeant."

Frasier heard only the trigger words. A Moon brother. Lawyers. The precinct. Dad using his old police contacts to smooth things over.

"_What happened?" _Frasier inquired, with forced calm. Roz Doyle looked amused. She knew Moon brothers too.

"I'll make some, er, coffee." Daphne offered, standing up. "The way you asked for it, Mr Crane."

"I sure want to see this." Marty replied, mysteriously.

Niles' hand was visibly shaking over a brandy glass. He looked distinctly wobbly.

"We went out for a morning constitutional at Café Nervosa." Niles began. "We generally agreed Timothy Moon needed a coffee education. Well, we were accosted on Kinsley Square – you remember, Frasier, where Derek Mann called you out for a fight?"

"How can I ever forget. Carry on." Frasier said, grimly.

"We were accosted by a trio of thuggish-looking gentlemen, who invited us to hand over such valuables and cash as we possessed. Well, I was reaching for my emergency mugger's tribute – oh, thank you, Daphne, I need a coffee... and Tim stepped a pace forward and said..."

* * *

"Well, what's in it for me?" Tim Moon asked, conversationally.

The spokes-mugger glanced at one of his accomplices. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Maybe this limey in the fancy uniform wasn't used to American ways yet.

"What do you mean, buddy, what's in it for you?" the spokesmugger asked, slightly incredulously.

"Just give him the money, _please_!" the faggoty nerdy-looking one said, urgently. He was holding out a wallet. One of the muggers reached for it, but then the tall girl with the long dark hair had stepped between them, blocking his way. She didn't seem too intimidated, either.

"Just clarifying the rules of engagement." the Limey said, cheerfully. He smiled. It was not the sort of placatory smile a scared mark put on to appease as he passed over his wallet. "So in this transaction. If I give you my money and watch and soforth. What do I get in return?"

"You don't get damaged, that's what you get! Nobody gets hurt. We don't touch the lady."

"I see. And if the lady doesn't want to be touched or otherwise accosted?"

The spokesmugger looked down to see the uniformed Limey was wearing a pistol holster. But it looked kinda empty. Even so, it began to dawn on him that a guy in a military uniform might not be an easy mark.

"Does the uniform I'm wearing say anything to you?" the Limey said, pleasantly. The green beret? The capbadge? No, no reason why it should. Yet."

"Ah come on, this is wasting time!" one of the other muggers said, impatiently. He reached into his jacket. The faggoty one whimpered.

"Don't worry, Doctor Crane." the girl said, as she stood there impassively. "I won't let them hurt you."

_She's a Brit too, huh, _was the mugger's last thought before a fast combination of a punch and a sweeping kick that cut his legs from under him sent him sprawling. He heard the girl saying _ "Bet you wouldn't hit a woman?" _A beat later, there was a crash and a thud. _"That's good, because I can certainly hit you!" _

The third mugger looked around and saw he was the only one still standing. He turned to run, took a couple of paces, and then his world exploded into pain.

"You know, what we've got here is a failure to communicate!" the Brit in the uniform said, pleasantly. "You're right, this is not a scary uniform. But some fairly scary people wear it!" And then he started shouting.

_On the ground now! Get your hands behind your head! Get your legs apart! Wider, wider... and if you even so much as facking breathe heavily, I'm stamping on your head!_

Tim Moon moved from one to the other, tapping the toe of his boot up between the spread legs of the hapless muggers.

"And if you're thinking of anything clever, just remember where my boot is in relation to your family jewels." he said, pleasantly. "Just a little civics lesson here. The Royal Marines are in town. It pays to be friendly and hospitable towards us, as we're not bad guys, really. Spread the word!"

Something of a crowd had gathered. A police siren was howling in the near distance.

"Get them on the ground, and they're docile." Tim said to Niles, converstationally. Then he turned to the three muggers.

"Not sure if this is legal here, but I guess a citizen's arrest is recognised everywhere." he said, cheerfully. "Right, you are now under military custody until such a time as you can be released to the civil authority..."

Niles turned to Daphne. He was shaken, frightened, and puzzled.

She shrugged.

"That's the yellow card warning, Doctor Crane." she explained. "It's like a Miranda, only the Army have to use it in places like Belfast when they make an arrest on behalf of the regular police. Tim's done this before."

"So I see." Niles said.

"...and while the civvie police have to stick to the rules, _we don't_. Any questions?"

Two Seattle cops bustled up through a crowd that was appreciating the street theatre.

"What the Sam Hill is going on here?" the lead cop, a sergeant, demanded.

"Ah. Sergeant. Just caught you three street muggers." Tim said, genially.

The sergeant looked down.

"_Did I say you could move?" _Tim almost screamed._ "Stay down!"_

"This guy's a freaking maniac!" the lead mugger said. "Get us out of this!"

The cop looked down at a dropped knife that told its own story. Then he saw the pistol holster at Tim's belt.

"Is that a _gun_?" he demanded, his eyes slitting.

"It's empty, Sergeant." Tim reassured him. "My issue weapon's locked up in the armoury on board ship. Diplomacy, you see. Didn't we conclusively settle the issue of whether armed British troops could walk around America telling you what to do, way back in seventeen seventy-six?"

The police sergeant patted down the pistol holster, finding it empty. He grunted.

"You people better all come to the precinct where we can settle this. Call for back-up, Jim."

* * *

"I see" said Frasier, doubtfully.

"They let me and Doctor Crane go after we made statements. Doctor Crane thought it was a good idea to tell Donny, in case Tim needed a lawyer. " Daphne said.

Marty added "And by then, the guys at the precinct had worked out one of my sons was mixed up in this. So they rang me. Patrick Brannigan was working the desk. Said after they'd taken statements and interviewed witnesses, all the cops in the precinct wanted to shake Tim by the hand. Asked if he wanted a job if he had plans to leave the service. Well, we've had English guys come to America before and they've been good cops."

Marty tasted his coffee, thoughtfully.

"So it's all sorted out, Frase. Donny and Tim are probably on the way over here now."

Roz laughed. Then she tasted her coffee.

"There's something odd about this coffee." she said. "Daphne, what did you do to this?"

Frasier set his mug down. "I thought it wasn't up to your usual standard, Daphne!"

In his agitation, Niles had drained his mug. He looked into the empty cup, baffled. He did a double-take.

"No grounds..."

Marty laughed out loud and slapped his thigh. Daphne extended a hand, her face betraying triumph.

"You lose, old man!"

He passed two ten-dollar bills to her. She pocketed them with a certain smugness.

Frasier realised.

"Dad!" he exploded. "you mean you had Daphne poison us with English coffee, or whatever passes for coffee in that culinary black spot?"

"Hey, Frase. I had a bet with Daphne she could serve you both British instant coffee and you wouldn't notice. I thought you'd both twig, what with those sophisticated tastebuds of yours. Worth losing twenty bucks just to see the expressions on your faces!"

"Now that's not fair, Dad. We were both distracted!" Niles objected.

"You emptied the cup, though. Marty loses, I win!"

"I have a distinct after-taste of chicory." said Niles. "Thus a perfect Monday continues."

"Oh, don't be so precious." said Roz, dismissively. "It wasn't that bad!"

"And you were the only one who noticed, Roz." Marty said. "So much for an educated palate, huh?"

Frasier and Niles went silent. Marty grinned up from his recliner.

"So, Roz, How did your Saturday go, seeing the ship?"

"Ah, Marty, it was great." she replied, smiling warmly. "I was a little bit anxious at first as Alice was off her food, she wouldn't eat anything at breakfast. I wondered if she was coming down with something, but she insisted she was fit and well, so we went off to find Tim at Colman Dock. There was a big line of people waiting to join one of the official touring parties, but he found us and said he'd give Alice and I an unofficial personally escorted tour. And you know, Frasier, when you're with someone who can jump line and who has the power to get you to the front like that, you feel like a million dollars!"

"And you call me an elitist snob!" Fraiser observed. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

So, get this, he walked us to the head of the line past all these people and on board the ship, and hey, these are big ships!" exclaimed roz.

"Full of lots of seamen. Nothing new, then." Niles murmured. Her eyes narrowed. Roz forced herself to contemplate the almost-coffee.

"English coffee." she mused, looking into a half-full cup. "Do I spit it out or just swallow?"

"Ah, the eternal conundrum." Niles said. "But I'm sure you can trust your experience."

He moved away, quickly. Roz smiled a low, wicked, smile and turned to Daphne.

"So just how did you deal with that mugger, Daphne?" she asked, with seeming innocence. Daphne smiled back.

"Roz, you grow up in a place like Collyhurst**(3)** with seven brothers, then believe me, you learn to fight!" she said. "Simon and Tim both taught me a few dirty tricks. But me brother Billy is the hardest, dirtiest, fighter of the lot!"

"What, _Billy_?" Marty said, incredulously. He'd heard about Billy Moon.

"Yes, Billy." Daphne said, emphatically. "What's so strange, Mr Crane? Grow up in Collyhurst and have an interest in Judy Garland movies and old Hollywood musicals, you _have_ to learn to fight! Billy and his friend got called the Agony Aunts, because of what they'd do to people who got intolerant around them. Billy and his friend Donald. Although after a while Donald preferred to be called Dorothy."

"Your brother Billy is a friend of Dorothy." said Frasier. "Why am I not surprised?" **(4)**

"Daphne, you just gotta demonstrate!" Roz pressed her. She took a sideways glance. "Maybe Niles could help you demonstrate? He could come at you with a knife or something. Try to attack you. As if he'd been _stalking_ you for a while, or something, and decided to move in for the..."

"I'm flattered that you asked, but maybe I'm not the one?" Niles hurriedly cut in.

"Don't be stupid, Niles. I've got a bad hip, Roz is another woman, Frasier's kind of on the big side, so that only leaves Niles!" Marty said. "'Sides, I wanna see this for myself!"

Niles reluctantly stepped forward. Daphne tossed him a table knife. He fumbled and dropped it. As he picked it up, Daphne did a couple of warm-up moves with her arm.

"The one me brother Billy taught me goes like this." she said, as Niles picked the knife up. Holding it at arm's length uncertainly. "Come on, doctor Crane. Come at me. I promise you I won't hurt!"

Niles took an uncertain step forward. Daphne bounced on her toes, and high-kicked upwards with all the expertise of a Vegas dancer. Her toe missed Niles' chin by a very tiny fraction. He squealed and jumped back, dropping the knife.

"Now I was taking dancing lessons." she said. "So was me brother Billy, for his stage act. It was Billy who said if you land a high kick on somebody's chin, they tend to fall over and lose interest."

As Marty applauded and Roz grinned at Niles, Daphne added

"But you have to wear a loose dress so your legs can kick right up. And the right kind of shoes, with good heels. At least, that's what Billy said."

Niles picked up the knife again.

"Thank you for demonstrating Manchester's school of martial arts..." he began, edging off.

"Oh, I've not finished, Doctor Crane. That wasn't the move I used this morning. Just come at me with the knife again, as if you really wanted to do me harm..."

Coaxed by Daphne, Niles moved in again, an awkward caricature of an Indian knife fighter. This time, Daphne moved in closer, explaining that the last thing the guy with the knife expects is for you to step forwards. He's expecting you to run away.

"Now I take Doctor Crane's right wrist, just so, here. I step to the side, twisting the arm, so. Now I'm in control and he's going right where I want him to, which is _down_."

She pushed forward with both hands on his knife arm. At the same time a side-sweep with her foot cut the legs from under Niles, who fell forwards. He ended up lying face down with Daphne holding his right arm straight up behind him.

"Now at this point I can put me foot on the back of his neck – sorry, Doctor Crane, excuse feet, I'll have to kick me shoe off for this bit."

"Think nothing of it, Daphne." Niles mumbled, as she applied her bare foot to his neck. His eyes closed in what Frasier hoped was discomfort.

"Now when I did me physiotherapy diploma, I learnt all about anatomy, muscle and bone and how it all fits together. So I can tell you that holding Doctor Crane's arm like this and applying leverage via me left foot, if I carry on twisting I can pop the arm right out of its socket at the shoulder. It's also excruciatingly painful. That's what I did to me man this morning to keep him quiet till the cops showed up!"

Marty applauded again. Roz grinned in appreciation. Daphne graciously allowed Niles to stand up.

"I didn't hurt you, did I, Doctor Crane?" she asked, anxiously.

Niles shook some feeling back into his right arm.

"Think nothing of it, Daphne." he reassured her. "Very instructive."

He wobbled to a seat alongside Roz Doyle. She smiled serenely and made room.

"So Tim advanced you to the head of the line. And you both had a private tour." Marty prompted her.

"Yeah. We were on the dockside watching the Marine band. And there were these stations around where the Marines were showing off their weapons. Demonstrating the sort of kit they'd have carried in the Falklands War when they did that long forced march and fought a battle at the end? All that was really popular. You've seen how men go for big powerful weapons, yeah? Anyway, Alice was a bit distracted and grousy. I said I was worried for her, but she insisted she still wanted to go. Heck, _**I**_ wanted to be there! I mean, everyone else seemed to think I'd be at Colman Dock to pick up a sailor or a Marine, whatever I did. I thought I may as well get _something_ out of it and pick a good cute one."

"And you got me brother."

"Credit me, Daphne. He's a good-looking guy who knows how to behave! And he could not have been nicer. He was concerned Alice was uncomfortable and he spotted the side of her face was a bit swollen and red. He got it out of her she had toothache, and he said..."

* * *

"I know a man who can help. Alice? Can you trust me? I know what I'm doing!" **(5)**

Roz didn't object as Tim Moon picked the little girl up; she trustingly put her arms around his neck and held on tight.

"We'll have to go a few decks down for this." Tim said, cheerfully. Roz followed as best she could, down a couple of long steep stairways – _companionways_ – that led down into the depths of the vessel. Everything was painted a uniform middle grey, and nothing was signposted. They passed the occasional sailor, who saluted as they passed, Tim nodding back and apologising he couldn't return the courtesy as his arms were full. And the walk was _long. _Roz did not see any other civilians.

"So where are we going?" she asked.

"Sickbay." Tim said, smiling. "Well, a small hospital, really..."

They turned a corner, and an armed Marine sentry stepped out at them. He was one of two guards barring the way, but seeing one of his officers, he dropped his rifle to the "Present Arms" salute.

The formalities over, one of the Marines looked at Roz and the little girl in Tim's arms.

"Didn't realise you'd been here.." he did a mental calculation - "six years ago, sir!" he said, cheerfully. Tim grinned. He winked at Roz.

"Medical emergency. This little girl needs the duty surgeon's attention. Who's on duty?"

"You're in luck, sir. The Doctor is in." the Marine said, and stood aside.

They continued their walk.

"And of course the surgery and sickbay are right next door to one of the arsenals." he explained. "hence the armed guard."

"Good planning, huh?" Roz said.

"Exquisite." agreed Tim. "The sickbay on HMS Victory was just above the gunpowder store, so evidently it's one of those Traditions. And the British armed forces being what they are, you don't interfere with long-established tradition."

She took Alice's free hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Tim, this business about a _surgeon_.." she said, anxiously.

"Oh, all Navy medical officers are called surgeons." he reassured her. "Doesn't mean they can perform operations, though! Ah, we're here... and the right man's on duty, too!"

An older officer in his early fifties was sitting in the office, smoking a reflective cigarette. The rank badges at his wrist were in red rather than gold. He stubbed it out as the three walked in.

"Tim!" he said, cheerfully. "I never realised you'd been on shore leave here five or six years ago?"

"She's not mine, Harry. Unfortunately. But her mother would like a doctor to look her over. Bit of a toothache."

Introductions were made. Surgeon-Lieutenant-Commander Harry Galloway, M.D, , sat Alice down in the chair as he looked for a surgical mask and gloves.

"I'm dual-qualified, Mrs Doyle." he reassured her. "I passed out as a doctor, and being a glutton for punishment, a few years later I went back to train as a dentist. So I'm qualified to look inside the little girl's mouth and see what's going on...Tim, be useful and go and shout up a Tiffie (6) for me, would you? Good man."

* * *

Frasier exploded. Niles' mouth dropped open with astonishment.

"You mean – you took your little girl to see a... _British dentist_?" Frasier shouted, not wanting to believe.

"In some states, that's legally a form of child abuse!" Niles added.

"Oh, where's the fuss?" Daphne demanded. "I've got any amount of fillings done at home and everything works okay!"

"Well, yes, but you're British." said Marty. "you're not in a position to judge."

"OK, so I'm a negligient mother." Roz said, grumpily. "And let me tell you, he was not a bad doctor. And the best of it is..."

* * *

Doctor Harry treated Alice with loving care and attention.

"I've got little grand-daughters like you back in England, Alice." he said, gently. "Got their photos on my desk if you want to see.. open wide for me? Now there's nothing to be concerned about. Just a little prick with a needle. And before you open your mouth, Captain Moon, I've heard that joke a thousand times before, thank _you_..."**(7)**

"Wasn't going to say a _word_, doc." Tim objected. In the background, a long, thin, and somewhat camp medical orderly was quizzing Roz about where she bought her clothes, and complimenting her on her fashion sense and colour co-ordination.

"Mr Etherinton, when you've quite finished talking fashion and style, I will need you on the suction tube. Try to concentrate, will you?" Harry requested, not looking up. "Well, we'll give that a minute or two, young Alice, and you'll feel the side of your face going numb. This will wear off after an hour or so..."

"You know, Tiffie, you remind me of my brother Billy?" Tim said, conversationally.

"You remind me of Billy Moon, too, sir!" the Tiffie squealed.

"Ah. Small world."

"Is he still performing as Edwina Sharples, the Beswick Battleaxe? That really cracks me up.."

The old grey-haired doctor shook his head tolerantly and turned to Roz.

"Nothing to be too concerned about, Mrs Doyle." he said, reassuringly. "Just the last of her baby teeth playing up. It won't come out on its own and the adult tooth is pressing up from underneath. It can't get out because the old one's in the way. No wonder she's uncomfortable! I'll just clear the way for the new growth, and she'll be right as rain."

"You've got a great way with kids! " Roz said. "Even though I guess you don't see many?"

"Well, I did have a dry posting to a Navy base where there are families and children." he said. "Rounds you out wonderfully. I'd argue no doctor is fully trained until he's done general practice. The ones who actively avoid dealing with children or don't have kids themselves can get a bit cranky, in my opinion."

"Tell me about it! I work with a pychiatrist. His _brother's _also a psychiatrist. Niles Crane said he went into psychiatry because he faints at the sight of blood, can you believe it?"

The doctor chuckled.

"Oh, I can well believe it! I've got one on my staff. Totally loopy. Just out of King's College with a medical degree and a masters in psychiatry. Told him to take the day off and enjoy himself. Not entirely useless as a basic doctor, but goes green when he sees blood. Just as well the Navy sent me back to school for a year to do _my_ masters in psychiatry!"

"You're a psychiatrist too?" Roz said, interested.

"And just about on the sane side of completely barking mad. The way it works, Mrs Doyle, I'm first and foremost a medical doctor and dentist. I have to be a dentist because this ship carries a lot of interesting weaponry. Believe me, you do not want a sailor in charge of a missile system if he's feeling a bit out of sorts with toothache. _Especially_ if you're halfway across the Pacific with no shore in sight. So a ship like this has a dentist and the best available kit. You also do **not** want that same sailor going what we in the profession call going absolutely doolally-tap**(8)**, when he has a gun in his hand. There was a case on one of our nuclear submarines..."(**9)**

The doctor shuddered.

"So the medical staff needs a trained psychiatrist. But it's nuts and bolts stuff. You get a sailor referred to you who's behaving oddly and you have to decide whether he can go about his duties or not. Making the right decision, very quickly. Especially if it's one of the ship's officers."

Roz looked thoughtful.

"Ah, young Alice. Are we ready to proceed? Now open wide,and tell me if you feel this... ah, good girl. Tiffie, stand by with the vacuum pump..."

Roz held her daughter's hand through the extraction. At the end, she said, diffidently,

"How much do I owe you for that, doctor?"

Harry laughed.

"Not a bean, m'dear. It's on the house."

Roz looked slightly stunned.

"Look, I've heard about the American medical system." he said, patiently. "That's where the first vital signs the doctor checks for in an emergency relate to the health of the patient's bank balance and insurance policies. We don't do it that way. Consider yourselves the beneficiary of an advanced European-style socialised medical system. Care is free at the point of need. If you really feel the need, and if young Timothy here has the sterling good sense to invite you to the Captain's table next week, you can buy me a big Scotch. Or Tim can, as you'd be his guest."

"Well, now somebody else has mentioned it..." Tim said, taking Roz by the hand. She didn't pull away.

"Besides, old double-Hell threatened us all with fire and brimstone from a great height if we did not seek to establish good relations with our American hosts."

"That's the Rear Admiral." the doctor explained, helpfully. "Which is why I'm open for business today, if there are any medical emergencies to visitors. Although there's an American Navy base up at Puget Sound we can call on in emergencies. Wouldn't take five minutes in a chopper to ferry anything we can't cope with here."

"Doctor, how would you like to be on the radio?" Roz asked, professionally.

* * *

"I don't see why not." Frasier said, stroking his chin. "A professional colleague who deals with the special and unique mental health needs of the military. That'll make for a good show!"

"And one of the first totally sane psychiatrists I've ever met!" Roz said, with cheerful venom.

"If British psychiatry is on a par with British dentistry, that really will make for a good show!" Niles agreed.

* * *

_More next time... 5,000 words is a good length for a chapter. And this story has so many possibilities. _

**(1)**This actually happened to former Manchester United boss Tommy Docherty, possibly the club's most successful manager before Sir Alex Ferguson. United really had no choice: when the manager and the club physio have a fist-fight on the training ground with the full squad of players cheering them on and the press in attendance taking advantage of a scoop, it can't easily be covered up or dealt with privately.

**(2) **Damn, I'm getting to know Seattle quite well, despite never having been there. Elliot Bay Towers – Frasier's fictional address – does not seem to exist in real life, but the real-life Queen Anne's Height area is the sort of upscale socially prestigious address where Frasier Crane would live. Elliot Bay exists here, as does Elliot Avenue. Similarly, Kinsley Square – the location for both KACL and Cafe Nervosa – is fictional. But the Pike Park/South Main Street area is renowned for its coffee shops, especially around Pike Square Public Market, and strong cases have been made for CN being based on an amalgamation of two of those, one being the Pike Park Bookshop And Cafe on Pike and Third. A real-life Seattle location given in the show as the location for CN turns out, in real life, to be a Macdonalds. One suspects a little "Where The Hell is Springfield, Anyway?" obfuscation is going on. But at least it gives map locations to work with on a Seattle city map...

**(3) **Collyhurst is one of a string of economically depressed inner-city districts of the City of Manchester. I was playing with their names – Beswick, Harpurhey, Collyhurst, Ardwick Green, Gorton, Longsight – and for some reason Collyhurst felt right as home patch for the Moons.

**(4) **Outrageously flamboyant gay comedian Paul O'Grady, who made a drag living as Liverpool's Blonde Bombsite Lily Savage, has also famously taken a direct line to homophobes thinking he's an easy touch. What the bullies don't know is that O'Grady was once invited to consider a career in the Royal Marines – he was a Marine cadet before he came out as gay - and has what is called Marine Aggression in spades. Billy Moon is evidently a Mancunian version and spiritual sister.

**(5) **I did say I had David Rasche in mind as the actor to play Tim Moon. And of course Rasche was also maverick cop Sledge Hammer. Whose catchphrase was of course... Cue wild hollering from a studio audience clued up enough to get the reference...

**(6) **A Tiffie is a Royal Navy medical orderly or nurse. Until women were allowed to serve at sea, this was an area where gay sailors were not just tolerated, but actively encouraged. Old Royal Navy hands like my father say a Tiffie's gentle touch was as near to a woman's as they could get at sea, and even the most macho sailor was glad for them being there. The Royal Navy boasts it puts its recruits into exactly the right occupations...

**(7) **The punchline to the joke, for those who have lived sheltered lives, is "Yes, I _know _you are, but will the injection hurt?"

**(8) **Mangled Hindi the British brought back from India. Deolali was a posting in India loathed for its extreme heat and oppressiveness. Something about the place drove Europeans nuts. "Doolali-tap" is a corruption of the place name and the Hindu word for "insanity".

**(9) **In which a sailor on guard duty went postal with a loaded rifle. As he shot several visiting civilian dignitaries along with some of the ship's officers, there was Hell to pay afterwards.


End file.
